


you've got to shrug them off

by likewinning



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, under the red hood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You ask me, you're in trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got to shrug them off

He's heard about the kid. Upstart punk killing off gang members left and right, leaving heads in duffle bags and warning everyone off from dealing to children. He has some good _ideas_ , sure - but Matches can see he's biting off more than he can chew. Soon enough, Black Mask and his thugs will catch up with him and then -

Well. _He'll_ end up in one of those duffle bags, if he's lucky.

Matches doesn't meet him until he's down at the bar. Isn't even sure it's _him_ until he sees the way he swaggers around the joint, cigarette hanging from his lip and guns on each side. Knives in his boots, probably another couple in that beat up leather jacket of his. Like he's the new _sheriff_ of this fucked up little town and Matches -

"Kid," Matches says. Walks right up to him, puts his hand on his shoulder and the kid freezes, every bone in his body going still like he's ready to strike, or maybe run. "You ask me, you're in trouble."

He turns around real slow, blinks his pretty blue eyes up at him and they're level in height, almost, but he's still _small_ enough Matches could break him in half. If the Bat ever catches up with him he'll throw him over his shoulder like he's made of air.

"Maybe," the kid says. "I wasn't asking."

He buys Matches a beer with cash that looks dirty and bloodstained, leans in real close to look at him and says, "They say you're the guy I should talk to. That you know _everybody._ "

"Yeah," Matches says. Grins, gulps his beer down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Something like that."

"Only," he says. He takes out his knife, stabs down and misses Matches' hand by three two one inches. "You don't know _me_."

Matches takes the knife from him, slides it across his palm until he bleeds and the kid's mouth hangs open like it's waiting for something else there, too. "I _could_."

They talk shop. The Red Hood's little war on the Black Mask, on the B-word. The Bat lurks around every corner, even dingy little places like this, but the kid's mouth runs a mile a minute on all that guy's been doing wrong.

"Here I thought you just wanted to make some money," Matches says. He laughs like there's gravel caught in his throat, tosses his beer bottle behind him and motions to the bartender for another one. "But no," he says. "You wanna fix this place _up._ "

"Or burn it to the ground," he says. He winks, quirks his lips, and Matches thinks about sliding his thumb right in there, thinks about pulling him down to the dirty ground where they both belong, crushed glass under their knees and the pavement underneath. "I haven't decided yet."

"Well," Matches says. "You ever need help -"

"I don't," he says, "need anything from you."

He says that, sure, but thirty minutes and a couple of beers later he throws Matches across the tiles of the men's room, locks the door and scrapes his teeth against Matches' mouth until he tastes blood and beer and nicotine.

"You kiss the Bat like that?" Matches asks, and his hands clench into bruise-knuckled fists before he tugs Matches' belt open, shoves his trousers and boxers down and says, "You don't know dick about me and the Bat."

"Mm," Matches says. He strokes the kid's hair, squeezes the back of his neck and guides his hand to his dick. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. I know a lot of things."

"Yeah?" He asks. "You know how I get you to shut the fuck up?"

"You could try turning around," Matches says, and he looks at Matches for a minute, the kind of distrust like someone fucked him up _good_ , before he turns and faces the wall. Matches gets behind him, lets jeans and boxers slide down to the dirty floor before he drops down and _licks_.

"Jesus," he says. "Oh _fuck_."

"Uh-huh," Matches says. He sucks _hard_ , gets right in there. "Tell me all about it, baby."

"Don't - unh," he says when Matches fucks his tongue in, holds him open and just _goes_ for it. "Call me that."

"No?" Matches asks. He slides his thumb in, and the kid pushes back, bites his wrist to hold back a whine that Matches just knows would be sweet as a song. "You never _did_ tell me your name."

"Fuck - _off_ ," he grunts, but he thrusts back against Matches face again, reaches down and grabs his dick.

"Now baby," Matches says. He slurps and sucks and _gouges_ him with his tongue, makes him slam his fist into the wall. "You know you don't mean that."

He doesn't say anything else, he's shaking too bad for it, shaking with all the noise he _wants_ to make and Matches wants to hear. Matches thinks about grabbing his belt, tying up his wrists so he can't cover up those pretty sounds, but then he wouldn't get that come-sloppy hand in his hair at the end, when he digs his teeth into his leather jacket and comes.

"There now," Matches says, pulling back and licking his lips. "Don't that feel better?"

He turns around slow, like a snake about to strike, and sure enough Matches is waiting for it when the kid knocks him to the floor, pants around his ankles and swallows his dick. He doesn't look up at him, doesn't seem to _breathe_ hardly, but he moans like a whore when Matches touches him, when he hums and says, "Yeah, that's it. Just like that. You know what I like."

And maybe he _does_ , maybe he knows just the perfect suction, the speed and spit of it all, choking like it's all he _wants_. Matches has seen plenty before, has seen desperate, but this -

He yells when he comes, when it sneaks up on him like a knife in the back, and the kid looks up at him finally, eyes all fucked-out and crazy like maybe only one of them gets to leave this bathroom alive.

The kid swallows, stands, puts himself together and doesn't so much as offer Matches a leg up.

"So maybe I'll see you around," Matches says after him and the kid stops, squares his shoulders, back to the part of tough guy in tough-guy clothes.

"Yeah," he says. "And maybe you won't."


End file.
